


Hear the Serpent's Hiss

by KannaOphelia



Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [5]
Category: Good Omens (Radio), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables, Aziraphale and Crowley love each other in every single adaptation, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), BBC radio, But there is no category for Radio Good Omens, Christmas Fluff, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Prompt: Sleigh Bells, We really need an All Media Good Omens category
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/pseuds/KannaOphelia
Summary: Crowley feels Warlock's first Christmas is of crucial importance in establishing the future moral direction of the Antichrist. Aziraphale is not so sure, but it's difficult to resist temptation, especially when delivered in that rich, dark chocolate drawl.BBC Radio!Canon, aka "sexy-voiced Crowley".
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 31 First Kisses: Good Omens [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559824
Comments: 40
Kudos: 312
Collections: An Angel and a Demon Walked into a Bookshop: Ineffable Husbands Stories





	Hear the Serpent's Hiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deamonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deamonia/gifts).

> For Deamonia--for being my friend, being my beta, and inspiring me to write radio!canon.
> 
> Just a couple of notes on the radio version for anyone unfamiliar--they are the least demonstrative Aziraphale and Crowley, but they also have the sense of a long-established, trusted relationship, without any painful tension. Crowley is the most actually demonic of the versions, and also has a delicious drawling voice, when he remembers he is a tempter and should use it. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is the most waspish version.
> 
> 31 Day of Ineffables prompt 6: Sleigh Bells.

Aziraphale could hear a voice like melted chocolate, a deep rich dark sweet voice designed for temptation, coming from behind the yew hedge. He could catch the words "sin", "destruction" and "evil".

Ah. That would be the new nanny, then.

He padded on quiet feet, much more padded than gumboots should really be, around the corner, and listened to the temptations of Hell.

"You're a booful Prince of darkness, aren't you? You're the prettiest, cutest, most booful devilspawn ever! Oh, you like that, don't you precious? You like a big raspberry on your adorable ickle tumtummy, my prince? Yes, you do, yes you do, you lovely gigglepot Lord of destruction you. Do you like kisses too, dragonlet? Does oo like kissy-kissies?"

Aziraphale stood quietly, just long enough to store up a lifetime's worth of mockery material in his memory. It was unfortunate that his lifetime was probably going to last just over ten years. Then he cleared his throat.

Crowley stopped tickling the giggling Antichrist and sat up.

"I see you and Warlock are getting along," Aziraphale said mildly, sitting down on the blanket beside him and holding his arms out for the baby.

"I can't help it," Crowley said, handing Warlock over. "He's the son of my Dark Lord. I'm probably genetically predisposed to bow down and worship him."

"I thought the whole point of this project is that, if we have genes at all, he's genetically an angel. Just like you." Crowley ignored that, and Aziraphale contemplated the child in his arms. Over the last few months Warlock had started to look less like an underdone poached egg, and more like a human being. Aziraphale still didn't really understand the appeal. "What dark liturgy is _I am going to eat your darling wicked tummy all up _from, again?"

"Plenty of cannibal cults in the old days," Crowley said defensively.

"Well, you would know." Aziraphale tickled the baby under his chin. "You are a very, ah, nice baby," he hazarded doubtfully.

Warlock spat up all over him.

"Sorry," Crowley drawled. "I shouldn't have thrown him about so much." He drew a sigil in the air, and the sweet smelling vomit vanished. "You just wait until he starts solids properly."

"Thank you." Aziraphale continued to cuddle the child, but turned him to face away, snuggling him in his arms. He looked up to see Crowley watching him with a curious expression, glasses shoved up on his head.

"Should you expose your eyes like that?"

"Probably not." Crowley didn't lower his glasses. "Don't you ever come to the house?"

"No real reason to come in."

"I'll have to come to the garden more often. So you can counterbalance me a bit."

"Crowley, Warlock's not even a year old. He can't understand a word of the nonsense you're babbling."

"You never know. When did you last meet an Antichrist? He might be thinking even now, _When I'm Lord of all I survey, that prissy queen is going to be crushed under my hooves for refusing to come to see me and Nanny._ Hey, angel, something has has been bothering me."

Aziraphale tensed. "Hell has noticed my presence?"

"No, not that I know of. It's just that irritating nun said she wanted to count the Antichrist's little toesy-woesys. Stupid, huh?"

"Unwise, possibly. Why are you thinking about it now?"

"I counted them three times yesterday."

"Were you expecting the number to have changed? I should think your side would make sure he had nothing to make him stand out."

"It's worse than that." For once, Crowley was looking nervous and ashamed. "Once I counted them, I kissed them. Do you think Warlock really is hypnotising me?"

Aziraphale bounced the baby, gently, so as not to set off another stream of vomit. Crowley was looking genuinely terrified. Funny, how after six thousand years someone could still surprise you.

"That skirt really does suit you."

"Thanksss. I like it." Crowley shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I'm serious. If he brainwashed me, our plan is doomed."

Warlock was gripping Aziraphale's finger with the tiny strength of a six month old baby, and Aziraphale was aware of a stirring of warmth that was to do with the devil's child, with Crowley's worried frown and expensive stockings, with ten years stretching ahead. Even if they were the last ten years, they might be quite pleasurable. "I don't think we need to worry about that."

"Right. Well, Christmas."

"Why? It's a busy season for us both, but I think we could be forgiven for focusing on Warlock instead, under the circumstances."

"That's exactly what I mean. It's Warlock's first Christmas. It's crucially important."

"Crowley, he's a baby. He has no idea what Christmas is."

"We don't know that. We have to start right." The dark, honeyed drawl was back in Crowley's voice as he sprawled back on the rug and looked speculatively at Aziraphale. "You'd make a far better Father Christmas than me. I'm hardly a saint."

"Neither were most saints if I recall. In any case, I'm not sure I approve of the tradition. It seems to foster greed, deception and teaching rich children that they are morally superior to poor children and therefore deserve more material goods."

"Exactly," said Crowley, with so much pride in his voice that Aziraphale glared suspiciously at him. "That's my side, anyway. You, on the other hand, get to foster joy and give him good, improving presents. Picture books about the joys of giving and kindness. Come on, you love books."

_I love_\--Aziraphale looked down at the Saturnine dark face, the wickedly gleaming yellow eyes and, as usual, put the thought away for another time. Some unspecified point in the future when he would feel like examining it.

"You can never start an improving library too young," Aziraphale mused.

"Come on. Let yoursssself be tempted," Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale swatted him lightly but, in the end, he always gave in.

"Besides," Crowley went on, "Warlock deserves the bestest Christmas in the entire world, don't you, my gorgeous prince of darkness you." He tickled Warlock's tummy, and the Antichrist squealed with delight.

* * *

So it was that Aziraphale, dying internally from mortification, found himself materialised in Warlock Dowling's room.

"I'm not putting the guillotine in a baby's reach, whatever Crowley thinks," he grumbled to himself. "Let alone the books."

He carefully lined up next to the cot the books, dolls (to encourage nurturing) and classical music CDs he had chosen for his godson, as well as the variety of toy guns, weapons and monsters Crowley had chosen. Then he peeked on the Antichrist, who gurgled in his sleep.

"Sleep well, little Warlock. May you be at least in part the angel you have the potential to be." It wasn't a blessing, exactly. He wasn't quite sure what effect blessing the Son of Satan might have. "And be good for my demon. I think he loves you. Which means I will try to love you as well."

Crowley, on a camping bed in the corner, muttered in his sleep as if in response. Aziraphale walked over to him, seeing his face in the moonlight. A quite ordinary face really, handsome in a foreboding way--well, pretty, Aziraphale supposed, at the moment, although "pretty" was an odd word to fit Crowley, so perhaps not--but not too much so. A face which, apart from the eyes, was designed to fit in. To look ordinary, when he was anything but.

And always, always, the first and greatest tempter.

So it wasn't, Aziraphale reasoned, entirely his fault if he cradled the sharp jaw in his hand for just a moment, and pressed a feather-light kiss on his forehead.

Crowley's eyes opened, luminous yellow in the dark.

"Well, this is new," he drawled.

Aziraphale had too much dignity to panic. "Yes, it is."

"C'mere." Crowley pulled his face down and kissed him, long and hard and deep, as if it was something he had always wanted as well. It felt strange and unthinkable and natural and familiar to have those lips and tongue on his, those dear hands holding his face, and _oh_ Aziraphale loved him. Ridiculous to pretend otherwise, now that Crowley was _kissing_ him and bells were ringing in his head.

He pulled up eventually, and Crowley smiled up at him.

"Sssatan, I never thought I'd be kissing Father Christmas. That beard is the least sexy thing I can imagine. Don't wear it next time I kiss you."

"Who said there is going to be a next time?"

Crowley actually looked alarmed, and Aziraphale kissed his forehead again. "Go back to sleep, dear. Don't want the Dowlings wondering why their Nanny is snogging Father Christmas in their son's room."

Crowley flashed sharp teeth but turned over to settle back to sleep. "Don't forget to ring the sleigh bells."

"Crowley, really--"

"You promised. You're an angel. Keep your promises. It's in the rules."

"All right, then."

Aziraphale went over to the cot and leaned down. Warlock opened big eyes that Aziraphale knew were blue, and smiled at him. Aziraphale felt a stirring of tenderness. "You're lucky I have a weakness for Hellspawn," Aziraphale told him, "although it probably won't count in my favour in the final reckoning if we fail at this."

There was a sound between a snort and a chuckle from the bed. "We won't fail. I'm not letting a little thing like Armageddon ruin our partnership."

"I'll hold you to it. Good night, Crowley."

"Night, angel."

With a martyred sigh, Aziraphale clambered out of the window and rang his bells. "Hope it makes you happy, you serpent," he muttered, then softened.

"Good night, my demons," he said. "I will protect you if I can. I will protect all the world, but especially you two."

Then he went back to the gardener's cottage alone and oddly content, the bells jingling in his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and quote from Blue Öyster Cult , _Demon's Kiss_:
>
>> So children, you'll hear the serpent's hiss  
At the moment you feel  
A demon's kiss
> 
> I didn't end up using much of the prompt in the end--but I suppose that's just what it was, a prompt.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for the support, my beloved readers. Comments are my joy. See you tomorrow for _Silent Night_.


End file.
